Qing Around
by Chris-Sasami-Bunny
Summary: Crossover: This is the story of how the Q Continuum created the Immortals and what they brought one young girl here to do. Maybe slightly Mary-Sue, help me stop that.
1. Introduction

Neither the Q nor the immortals belong to me. They belong to their respective owners. I am only borrowing them for my twisted imagination. The idea written here belongs to my co-writer, Diane Johnson, a.k.a. my mother. If you want to use it ask very very nicely and you just might get to.  
  
INTRODUCTION  
  
There is within the multiverse a universe that we shall call-strictly for the purpose of identification-Nob. And within the universe of Nob exists a group of beings known collectively as the "Q Continuum." Each member of the Continuum is known as "Q," by which appellation they call one another, and insist that inferior beings do the same.  
  
The raison d'être of the Q is "to maintain order in the universe," as they themselves will tell anyone who asks. They are omnipotent, and are able to transcend time and space in the blink of an eye. They can assume the form of any being that exists within the Nob universe, which they frequently do in order to communicate with the being in question more easily. In addition, they can produce-seemingly out of thin air-anything that they (or the beings with whom they are in contact) may desire with a mere snap of the fingers.  
  
With all of these wondrous powers, one would think that the Q would be deliriously happy and eternally entertained. However, when one lives forever and nothing much happens to challenge ones abilities, one can become quite bored. Which is exactly what happened.  
  
Out of that boredom was born an idea. The Q, in their infinite wisdom, decided one day (if their measurements of non-time can be called "days") to follow the example of the innumerable races with whom they were most well acquainted and procreate. It was quick, painless-and probably the worst mistake they ever made. Despite their powers and their great responsibilities, the Q are not all-wise and all-knowing. Before they knew what was happening, a multitude of young, reckless Q were gallivanting around the universe, wreaking havoc and generally making nuisances of themselves.  
  
The Q were no longer bored.  
  
Faced with the daunting task of trying to ride herd on a countless number of young Q, who were misusing their powers at every turn, they desperately sought for a solution; for, boredom, they decided, was far better than the wanton mass destruction of various portions of the universe.  
  
A council was convened for the first time since the Q had gotten together to procreate, and it was unanimously decided (after eons of non-time) to take away the powers of the young Q and drag them all back "home." Once they had the youngsters in hand, as it were, they followed through with the next phase of their plan. This is where things really get interesting.  
  
The young Q were transformed into what appeared to be normal human infants and were scattered upon the face of the planet Earth (the one that exists in the Nob universe, not the one on which you and I dwell). They were not, however, all placed upon the earth during the same period of time. Their places in time were as varied and distant from one another as were their destinations on the earth itself. And they were each left on the doorstep (or a suitable equivalent) of some unsuspecting person or persons unknown.  
  
Said the Q, "Not only shall we be rid of the menace for a few eons of non- time, but it will make an interesting experiment, as well. The age-old question of nurture versus nature will be answered once and for all."  
  
The Q were not naïve. Some of their offspring were, to put it mildly, troublemakers; a small percentage of them were malleable and easily led by their peers, for better or for worse. But there were a large number of the young Q who decided to group together to use their powers for good. (One may wonder why the members of that particular group were also stripped of their powers and sent to earth to live as humans; but the fact of the matter is, however good their intentions might have been, it is against the laws of the Continuum to interfere in the lives of any creatures for good or ill, unless the very stability of the universe is threatened.)  
  
The Q had long had their collective eyes on planet Earth and found the humans living there to be quite fascinating creatures, a veritable melting pot of vices and virtues. Here, the Q reasoned, their offspring could learn all the things that they themselves had never learned, having never lived as babies or children, and having never experienced anything remotely resembling the life of a regular person-human or otherwise.  
  
While living on Earth, the powers of the young Q lay dormant within them, unknown and unusable; but they were left with one gift: immortality. They did not know they were immortal until the first time they died-and the death had to be a violent one. Old age and illness did not count.  
  
Even their immortality, however, was not immutable. They could die permanently, but only if they were beheaded. And their dormant powers were manifest to some degree upon their final and ultimate death, at which time they were transferred to the immortal responsible for their beheading.  
  
Immortality did come with a price, however: they were unable to have children.  
  
The first immortal (speaking from Earth's own historical viewpoint) was visited one day by a member of the Continuum who told him that, eventually, he would find others like himself: people who could not die-permanently, anyway-unless they lost their heads.  
  
This first immortal was then given the rules to a very insidious game that the Q had concocted in order to rid themselves of the bad apples in the bunch. The rules were fairly simple and straightforward: Immortals could only face each other one-on-one in fair combat, with no interference from friends or loved ones; combat between immortals could not take place on holy ground of any kind, albeit a church or a cemetery; and, in the end, there could be only one. The winner-whichever immortal remained after all of the others had been killed-would receive a wondrous prize. He (or she) would become one with the universe, i.e., would know what every person and creature on the earth was thinking and feeling at any given time, and would also be able to (finally) have children, grow old, and die. This so-called "prize" was, of course, propaganda, but it made for good drama and helped separate the wheat from the tares.  
  
The Q hoped that the troublemakers among their offspring would learn a few things from the humans that might help straighten them out. Barring that, they might manage to kill each other off in their fight for the coveted "prize." The malleable ones, they were certain, would bite the dust fairly early in their individual lives; while the do-gooders would, if they stayed true to their natures, rid the world of the more evil immortals until only they were left. And it was a safe bet that the good ones would be reluctant to kill one another, no matter how desirable the prize.  
  
Once the battle between the good and evil immortals was at an end, the remaining good ones would be visited and given the choice of remaining on Earth and living out their lives as mortals, or returning to the Q Continuum and getting back all of their powers-with the stipulation, of course, that they no longer interfere where it was not allowed.  
  
That was the plan. And, for the most part, it worked.  
  
In the beginning, there were only a handful of immortals. And, the world being a big place, they didn't come across one another for several centuries. As time went by, however, the number of immortals in the world increased, and with it, their chances of encountering each other. And so the beheadings began. 


	2. It's All Because of Q

Disclaimer: I do not own "Highlander" or Q from the "Star Trek" Universe. I'm only borrowing them for my twisted imagination. The name Snow's Cat comes from the show "Early Edition" and I really liked it, so I stole it. Christina and all other members of the band are mine. If you want to use them, ask. Hugh MacGregor, is my tribute to the late and awesome Trevor Goddard, may he rest in peace.  
  
Chapter 1: It's All Because of Q  
  
It was a sunny June morning. I woke slowly from my sleep and stared at the ceiling. Gradually, my sleepy brain began to work. "Wait a minute. That ceiling is higher up than I remember," I told the world.  
  
"Yes, and I'm sure you can see it better, too," a familiar voice said from my right.  
  
I sat up abruptly and turned my head toward the intruder. "Q?!" I asked, dumbfounded.  
  
"Correct, as usual. My, you are as intelligent as I thought." Q was smiling smugly.  
  
"What are you doing here? Where is here? Why am I here?" I asked all these questions in quick succession.  
  
"Well, you could be polite enough to pose one question at a time, but I think I can answer them all to your satisfaction. I am here to explain to you what you're supposed to do. We are in your apartment in Seacover, Washington. You are here to do the Q a favor." Q created a chair for himself and sat down.  
  
"What kind of a favor?" I was very wary of the Ultimate Being in front of me.  
  
"Let's see, where should I start . . ." Q crossed his legs and then continued, "It began a long time ago . . ."  
  
Half an hour later Q had explained to me the existence of immortals and the Continuum's role in their creation. I sat slightly dazed for a minute, then finally found the words to ask, "So, what does all this have to do with me?"  
  
"That's simple. You know all about immortals, so we brought you here to help us with a problem," Q said evasively.  
  
"You've said that. What's the problem?" I folded my arms and glared at the man.  
  
"Methos is the problem," Q stated.  
  
"Methos? Why?"  
  
Q sighed. "Why couldn't you have asked the easy questions first, like: 'What about my family?' and 'What about my life at home?'"  
  
I stared at Q. I hadn't even thought about home. "Those are good questions. Do you mind answering them?"  
  
"Not at all. Your family will not be missing you because you are still at home, safe and sound."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Christina, you have been doubled. You are here and at home."  
  
"Doubled? You mean, like John Crichton on Farscape?"  
  
"Yes!" Q stood. "Exactly like that. You are an intelligent girl."  
  
"Thank you. Now, what about Methos?" I inquired again; I wasn't going to be put off.  
  
"We want you to help him," Q said.  
  
"Help him? How? What on Earth could I possibly do for him?" I was confused.  
  
"Methos was the very first born of the Q, so naturally he is the most important. But ever since that little encounter with the Horsemen a few years ago, he hasn't been the same. He needs something to live for again."  
  
"I thought Joe, Amanda and Duncan were his reasons for living."  
  
"They were, but they don't seem to be enough anymore. We—that is, all the members of the Q Continuum—are afraid that, sooner or later, he'll end up doing something stupid and get himself killed. That's where you come in. We want you to become Methos' reason for living."  
  
I snorted. "And what am I supposed to do exactly? Yes, I'm totally infatuated with the guy; but that doesn't mean I'm going to be able to make him fall in love with me. If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly a beauty queen. Besides, how would I start a conversation with him? 'Hello, my name is Christina Johnson. I know you're immortal, and I'm in love with you.' That'll go over real well."  
  
"Mock if you like, but you're stuck here; and sooner or later you'll want to see Methos. For now, everything you need to know is sitting on that table. Good luck." With a wink of his eye, Q was gone.  
  
After Q left, I found my closet and got dressed. Then I commenced to look through the stuff on the table. It was full of all the necessary documents one should have if one is going to function in the United States. It had a driver's license, a birth certificate (which did not have my real parents' names on it), my high school diploma, my Social Security card, and my associate's degree from Western Wyoming Community College.  
  
On the table I also found a check book and card . . . and . . . cat food? I ran out of the room and looked through the rest of the apartment. In the middle of the kitchen, sitting on the floor, was a little orange and white striped kitten.  
  
"Hello, honey," I said sweetly, kneeling close by the kitten. I picked it up, kissing it on the head. "What should I call you, sweetie?" I asked, looking at the small, orange ball of fluff in my hands. "'Snow's Cat'—that's what I'll name you; and for short, I'll call ya Snow."  
  
I put the cat down and took care of all of its needs, then got around to my own breakfast. It had become clear to me very early on that Q had fixed my vision. I wasn't quite sure why, but life was much easier without having to wear glasses.  
  
It was after breakfast that I decided to take a jog (which, from that point on, became a habit); and it was during that first jog that I found my new place of employment. It was called "The Hangout." I wouldn't have stopped there, but Q was standing outside the entrance. "Let me guess," I began as I jogged to the door, "you want me to work here."  
  
"Of course; it's the perfect place for you." Q gave me a toothy grin.  
  
"And what am I supposed to do? Wait tables?"  
  
"No, you are supposed to sing."  
  
"Sing? Q, I hate singing in front of people; you know that," I whined.  
  
"Well, it's time you got past this silly lack of self-confidence. Now, go in there and show 'em what you've got." Q then pushed me through the door.  
  
I looked around "The Hangout." It was . . . well, huge! At the very back of the room was a gigantic bandstand. On the left was a dance floor; and on the right, a bar and a group of tables. Leaning against the bandstand were a dozen or so people talking and laughing. A couple of people saw me and signaled to one of the others; he looked up, spied me, and then started walking toward me.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" a Trevor Goddard look-alike asked me with that actor's typical Australian accent.  
  
"I'd like to talk to the manager."  
  
"That'd be me," the man replied, smiling affably.  
  
"You need a singer?"  
  
"Maybe. What can you sing?"  
  
"Anything you want me to."  
  
"Your music interests are that varied, huh?" asked one of the girls in the group.  
  
"Try me," I replied, with much more confidence than I felt.  
  
The band got on stage and I followed them. They began to play songs that ranged from the 1950s to more modern music, and somehow I managed to remember all the lyrics to every song. Not only that, but I wasn't nervous, either. I felt calm, and my voice came out clear and loud. No fear or tension could be heard in it. After about half an hour, the Trevor Goddard look-alike stopped us.  
  
"You've got talent, sweetheart. You're hired." He grinned. "If you keep up that sound when the crowds start pouring in, they'll want you to do a CD. I'm Hugh MacGregor," he told me, holding out his hand. "My granddad was a Scotsman, if you're wondering about the name."  
  
"I'm Jessica Bryant," the girl who had spoken earlier said. "I'll be your back-up; but I guess you already figured that out."  
  
"I'm James Bloom," the main guitarist told me in a British accent  
  
"Alan Dean," the drummer—an American—added.  
  
"Timothy Anderson," supplied the Canadian bass player.  
  
"I'm Derek Shield," the pianist—another American—added.  
  
"I'm Mark Ford and this is Clark Nelson," said the tallest member of the group, indicating himself and his nerdy-looking friend. "We play all the other instruments in the band, and we're both Americans as well . . . if you noticed the accents Tim and James are sporting."  
  
I grinned. "Oh yes, I noticed. My name is Christina Johnson."  
  
"Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, let's get down to business, shall we?" Hugh asked. Then he told me my pay and gave me all the necessary paperwork to fill out for work. Once he was sure I had everything I needed, he told all of us, "Okay, I want you here tonight at seven for practice. We only have three days until this place opens and we want to knock 'em dead."  
  
"Amen to that," James added.  
  
"Fine. Everyone get out of here; I have other things to worry about," Hugh said, waving them off.  
  
"Hey, Christina, you wanna go out to lunch?" Jessica asked.  
  
"Sure, I'd love to." Jessica and I were headed for the door when it opened and a very familiar man walked in.  
  
"Joe!" Jessica said happily. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Looking in on my new business, wha'd'ya think, Jess?" Joe smiled at my new friend.  
  
"What's up, boss?" Hugh asked.  
  
"You found a singer yet?" Joe asked, looking slightly concerned.  
  
"The best," Tim told him, "and you're looking right at her."  
  
I smiled, which was really hard considering how fast my mind was racing. Everything was starting to make sense now. Q had sent me to this place because Joe owned it; and if Joe owned it, Methos would probably come to it. Also, I was sort of stunned. I hadn't actually expected to meet anyone involved in Highlander for at least a couple of weeks, and now I was staring at my hero.  
  
"So, you can sing pretty good?" Joe asked.  
  
"I'm okay," I replied modestly.  
  
"'Okay'? The girl is better than 'okay.' She's great. She makes Britney Spears sound like an eleven-year-old," Derek told Joe.  
  
"Derek, it doesn't take much to make Britney Spears sound like an eleven- year-old," Joe said dubiously.  
  
"Still," put in Clark, "she's good."  
  
"You want a demonstration, Joe?" Jessica asked.  
  
"That would be nice."  
  
"Come on, Christina, let's show him what you've got," Mark said, leading me back toward the stage.  
  
"Sounds good," said Joe, taking a seat, "and I think I know the perfect song..." 


	3. Thank You For The Music

Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander or Star Trek. They belong to their owners. I don't intent to destroy the characters. I am sorry if anyone who has been involved in either of these works is offended by my take on the characters. Still, I hope that someone enjoys my story.

Please send flames, and praise and anything else. I am motivated by feedback.

Chapter 2: Thank You For the Music

It was almost seven. I stood backstage; my heart was pounding. In a few minutes I would be starting my first performance. It was opening night at "The Hangout."

Jessica was messing with my hair again, adding more hairspray to it. "Jess, if you add anymore hairspray, I'm going to be a fire hazard."

"I can't help it! I'm nervous. Besides, your hair is _sooo_ static-y. I just want it to look perfect," Jessica replied.

I turned to face her. Staring straight into her brown eyes I began, "How about _I_ worry about _my_ hair and _you_ worry about _yours_." I stole the hairspray from her and threw it into our dressing room.

Jessica sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry, but, well . . ."

I smiled. "I know; me too."

Just then the band started up. That was our cue. We grabbed our mikes, turned them on, and headed onstage, already singing the opening lines to "Complicated."

The night seemed to fly by. We had an hour-long break at nine-thirty. During that time, a mix of radio music was played. It was well past midnight before the last customer went home. But, once everyone realized that we were done for the night, we called it quits and packed up our gear.

It was almost two in the morning by the time everyone was ready to leave. The guys in the band decided to have a party: the night had been a total success. The Hangout was a place for teenagers, so no alcoholic drinks were served and everyone was good and sober.

I yawned. "Okay, everybody, I really gotta get home."

"Before you go, let's have a toast," Joe suggested.

"Okay," said Hugh. "I'll grab some glasses. Is Sprite okay for everyone?"

"Why not?" Tim said with a shrug. Then he smiled. "It's not like any of us brought champagne."

A couple of seconds later, the drinks were handed out and everyone stood around in a circle. Joe lifted his glass and began, "To a future as successful as tonight."

"Here, here," said a few people and we all took a drink.

To be stupid, I added in a fake sobby voice, "And to world peace." I took a drink, and the rest of the group groaned.

The next day was Saturday. That afternoon, we practiced for our second performance, which would be that night; our third performance was scheduled for the following Friday. We performed only on Friday and Saturday nights. Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays were sort of "open mike nights." It was a great way to make a little extra money for the club and gave other local bands a chance to be seen. The schedule for the next three weeks had already been filled with groups wanting to play.

During these days, we helped the visiting bands set up. Then there were Thursdays. We weren't even required to come on Thursdays. It was Karaoke night. Sundays, The Hangout wasn't open. Joe just decided that, for those of his workers who were religious, it would be better not to have it open.

Outside of work hours, we pretty much did whatever we wanted. The guys all had part-time jobs. Jessica's parents were rich, and basically paid for anything she wanted. She was in the band because she enjoyed it; she had no other reason.

I had no money problems. Q had taken care of that "little detail" too. I was . . . well, let's just say I came into some money.

It was during this Saturday afternoon practice session that I had my first encounter with Methos. I began to sing, "You walked in to the party--" when the door opened.

"We're closed," Hugh yelled over his shoulder. He was sitting with Joe at a table.

"Yeah, I know. I was looking for Joe," said a familiar voice in a British accent.

I coughed. The band stopped, we had continued our performance through the entire exchange, but at the recognition of Methos' voice I lost it. After a few more coughs, I turned to the band. "Sorry guys, got some dust in my throat."

"Not a problem," James replied, he smiled warmly, and moved his blond hair out of his eyes, then he started again. In a second the band was replaying the opening cords.

I watched as Methos and Joe shook hands and sat down talking quietly together. I began again, this time with all the strength of my voice. I kept my volume at a nice range, but sang with my heart, trying to catch the ROG's attention. "You walked in to the party, like you were walking on to a yacht . . ." As I continued singing, Methos' eyes slowly drifted up to the stage.

I watched (while I sang), as Methos asked Joe "Who's she? She's good." (It was too quiet for me to hear, but I'd gotten very good at lip-reading over the past couple of years.)

Joe smiled and replied, "I know. Her name's Christina. She just moved here. Real sweetheart. You'll like her."

The song ended and we continued to practice for another hour. Finally, Hugh called for us to stop. "If you sing anymore Christina, you'll lose your voice before tonight, and then what?"

I laughed, "You'd be surprised, but I would like a break. I have to sing these songs all over again tonight after all."

"How many songs can you guys play anyway?" Asked Methos.

"About 300," Answered Mark. "We're the best. We never forget a song once we've learned it."

"Have you been together long?" Was the old man's next question.

"Six Years, for me and the guys. Jess joined us a couple years ago when we came to Seattle. Tina, of course, is brand new," Tim supplied with a smile

"Cool. Any of you guys sing?"

"Derek, Clark, and Alan, but we wanted a girl or two to mix it up, ya know?" James added. "We still sing once or twice in the nights too."

"You guys have a name?"

"Well originally, we were called 'Made in New York', after Jessica joined us we changed it to "Coast to Coast," Derek told him.

"So, what are all your names? I'm Adam Pierson by the way."

One by one everyone told him their names and shook hands. I was last and as I shook Methos' hand, suddenly I realized the truth. I was really here. This was happening. I don't know what it was about contact with Methos, but my whole outlook changed.

"Well, I really have to get going," I said briskly. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Pierson, I'll see you guys tonight, okay." I said this all in one long sentence and then walked quickly out the door.

Humans have a tendency to ignore the truth if at all possible. For the last few days, I had been doing this. Now, after meeting Methos, I knew that this world was real. For some reason, I had been under the impression I was just having one long realistic dream. Now, I knew better. I began to run, I forgot that my car was The Hangout and ran all the way home. Once I was inside, I sat down and began to cry. Why? Why did this happen to me? Before Q messed up my life, I had everything! A family, a fiancé, and a lot of wonderful friends. Now, I had nothing. Thankfully, Q showed up at just this point.

"It does no good to cry, Christina. You will only make yourself unhappy. Think about the things you do have. A nice apartment, a cat. A group of people to make your friends and a chance at Methos. What more could you want?"

"Oh, I don't know. My family! I was going to get married. I loved Isaac, I still do. It's not the same. Don't you understand!" I think that if, Q hadn't wrapped his arms around me, and held me for a couple minutes. I would have started trying to hit him, but since I couldn't move my arms, he was saved.

"I know this is hard, but we _need_ you Christina. No one but you could do this. No one. We checked."

I stopped crying. I don't know why. I was still upset, but I knew, for now anyway, I would be okay. Only for now. "Q, I'm scared."

"I know. Everything will work out. Now, how about going back to The Hangout and getting your car. You don't want to walk tonight in four inch heels do you?"

I sighed, smiled, and watched Q disappear. "I _can_ handle this," I told myself, but I didn't believe it.


End file.
